


Sensibilities

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Academy, First Time, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair’s having trouble at the Academy.  Jim’s having trouble with his senses.  Yeah, like <i>that’s</i> never been done before!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensibilities

**Author's Note:**

> Owned but no longer operated by PetFly but I operate them regularly for no pay, just love.
> 
> Written for a prompt in penance for spamming with reminders. :) Thank you to my cellar group for the beta, in this case: Sheila (Bluewolf), Sue and Ande! GRAZI!!!

**Sensibilities by Alyjude**

 

He needed an excuse. A good one.

Blair sat at the signal drumming his fingers on the steering wheel even as he delved into the inner sanctum of his brain to come up with a reason to miss, or at least be really late to, his firearms class at the Academy.

Truth be told, he'd like to miss all of his classes, not just that one. It turned out Simon had been less than accurate when he intimated that all Blair would need was to complete the firearms training at the Academy. No, turned out that if he wanted to partner with Jim, it was the fast-track, six-week course reserved for members of the military or other men or women with quote, "Police or law enforcement experience of some type," unquote. He supposed he should count himself lucky that the Commissioner had agreed that three years of following Jim all over Cascade equaled "experience."

Yahoo.

He should have enjoyed the Academy. Would have enjoyed it under different circumstances, but since his reputation had preceded him, the Academy sucked big time. The pressure was the heaviest he'd ever experienced, and can we say, "odd man out"? Sure we can. And how about "pariah"? Can we say that too? Sure we can.

Mentally, he was a mess. He swung from excitement at each new challenge presented by the curriculum, to severe depression when his instructors and fellow cadets put up road blocks to his success. Some of the blocks were subtle-too subtle to call anyone on them-but others were blatant and, unfortunately, came from the very men and women who were there to guide and teach him. As a result, calling them out was highly impractical. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was bring any more attention to himself, or complain to anyone, including Jim. So he suffered in silence, tossed back Rolaids like candy and did his level best not to rock the boat, let alone antagonize or inflame an already volatile situation. In other words, he stifled the man he was, conformed to a man he wasn't.

And he hated it.

But Jim needed him, of that he was sure, even if Jim wasn't. The Sentinel needed his backup and Blair knew what the hell he was doing - with lots of practice, he had this whole sidekick/guide/sentinel guru routine down pat,  Damn it.

The light went green and he started through the intersection. Just as his front tires crossed over the crosswalk on the other side, he heard a loud popping sound and his steering wheel was jerked from his hands. He realized instantly that a tire had blown and, while celebrating a blown tire would have been nice, he was too busy keeping the car on the road and avoiding other vehicles.

Somehow he managed to regain control and nurse his Volvo to the curb. When he rolled to a stop and finally shut off the engine, it was with a shaking hand. Man, that had been a close call. Fishtailing out of control was _not_ his favorite way to spend a morning.

Once his heart calmed down, he realized that he no longer needed to manufacture an excuse. He had one. And-damn it-he was going to use it. Plucking his cell from his pocket, he dialed the "call-in" number at the Academy. When the operator picked up, he gave his name and ID number and then let her know what happened. He also told her he didn't know how long he'd be, what with it being Monday morning rush hour, but as soon as the tow truck got him to a gas station, he'd let her know his approximate arrival time. When he hung up, he let the phone drop to the seat beside him.

If he remembered correctly, he had a couple of fiction books in the back seat...yep, there they were. He reached over and picked them up. After checking them both out, he decided on the one with the garish cover (a dead, naked, bloodied hunk of a blond sprawled across a bed) and started reading.

He figured he'd call for a tow truck... eventually. Like... in a couple of hours or so.

Blair felt guilty, miserable, the lowest of the low. And if that weren't enough, buying a new tire was going to tap him out.

But he kept on reading.

*****

Blair walked into the loft and headed straight for the refrigerator and a cold beer. He leaned against the counter and drank just about half without taking a breath. Feeling better already, he held the bottle to his temple and considered his actions of the day-or should that be _lack_ of actions?

He'd finally called the tow company-after three hours and both books-and then spent a lazy couple of hours at the gas station telling them he was in no hurry and "sure, go ahead and do them first." And of course, once the new tire was on-and he'd checked his bank balance-he'd agreed to the mechanic's suggestion that his tires be rotated and balanced. Oh, yes, must get those tires rotated and balanced. Jim would be so proud.

And speaking of Jim....

Blair frowned as he got a good look at the kitchen. Sure, it was neat, as always, but... but....

He glanced down at the floor and his frown deepened. The floor was actually... dirty.

Oh, not dirty the way one would expect. There were no bits of food or crumbs or anything, because it had certainly been swept, but that was it. The floor had not been mopped. And while the counter top had been wiped down, there was a fine layer of-dear God-dust on the items that hadn't been touched recently. He walked slowly over to the table, then the bookshelves and stereo, and finally over to the couches.

Dust.

Everything was... dusty.

Again, not the kind the average person would spot, but the kind that tended to drive ex-military and current sentinels crazy. The kind Jim took care of on a regular basis.

What the hell was going on?

Blair glanced up at the stairs, his gaze moving further up to Jim's bedroom. He started forward, completely unable to stop himself from climbing the stairs to Jim's ultimate sanctuary. At the top, his mouth dropped open.

The bed was unmade.

And there were...there were _clothes_ on the dresser. And...and...and....

Blair turned around and walked back downstairs.

This was....

He sat down, finished off the beer, and stared at nothing.

There could be valid reasons for the state of the loft, but Blair wouldn't necessarily know them. He and Jim hadn't seen much of each other since he'd started at the Academy. He was rarely home until late, left early, and Jim had been keeping equally crazy hours at the station.

Maybe something big was happening with a case? But that wouldn't explain the loft, so...it was something else? Maybe with his father or brother? God, he hoped not. But surely Jim would have....

No, he wouldn't. Because truth was, they weren't just missing each other due to their schedules. It was deliberate. And if their paths did cross, their conversations were short, succinct and unbearably polite in that "we're still adjusting" way that had become the norm since the discovery of a certain blonde, blue-eyed, curvy sentinel.

Damn, maybe Jim had met someone. The loft always suffered when Jim thought he was in love. Always. Blair shot to his feet and hurried back to the refrigerator. He checked inside and groaned. Beer, bottled water, and nothing else.

Jim hadn't shopped.

As if the Academy weren't enough, he now had to deal with a Jim in love again?

This was just too much. Too damn much.

It was now confirmed. His life sucked.

*****

Jim took another sip of his coffee and scrunched his face up in disgust. He slammed the mug down and watched, with some satisfaction, as the terrible brew sloshed over the rim and onto his current report.

"Jim, you okay?"

Wishing more than anything that the question had come from Blair instead of Joel (no offense, Joel, old buddy), Jim growled out, "Bad coffee."

Joel Taggart glanced over at Megan, who shrugged and looked pointedly at the empty chair next to Jim's. The one that should have been occupied by Blair.

Joel, who was the detective most often assigned to partner with Jim while Blair attended the Academy, rolled the few feet over to Jim's desk and said softly, "It's the same coffee as always. It's Blair's special blend."

Looking shocked, Jim stared down at the cup. "That's not possible. What I just swallowed was total crap."

"It's the same. I made it myself just before you returned from Forensics."

"Yeah, well, maybe Sandburg's coffee was always crap and I just didn't taste it." Jim gave the mug a little shove, as if to give emphasis to his words.

"Right, that must be it. The entire squad changed over because his particular blend is so terrible."

Jim's eyes narrowed as he gave Joel a suspicious look. "Was that you being sarcastic?"

Trying to look innocent, Joel asked, "Who, me?"

Jim gave him a disgusted 'humph' and said grudgingly, "Maybe you made it wrong."

"No, it's pre-packed by Blair and you know it. We just empty the plastic baggie into the coffee-"

"All right, all right, so my taste buds are a bit... off. Feel better now?"

"Actually? Yes. And since that's not the only thing off, maybe we'd better figure out why-"

"Jesus, you sound just like Sandburg," Jim groused.

"And this is bad, how?"

For the first time in days, Jim's expression lightened slightly as he said, "Okay, maybe it's possible that I...well, I might miss the squirt."

"We all do," Joel said gently. "Look, we all know the last weeks haven't been easy, but you and Blair are special people with a very unique and special friendship and you guys will make it through this." Then he grinned. "Of course, should I tell him that you called him 'squirt', that friendship might be in serious jeopardy."

"You tell him that and _our_ friendship will be in serious jeopardy," Jim said, his lips quivering with a suppressed smile.

"How 'bout I get you another cup of coffee while you take care of that ruined report?" Joel offered even as he picked up the mug.

"Thanks, Joel, I'd appreciate that."

Joel got up with the mug and headed for the break room, leaving his chair where it was, which didn't escape Jim's notice. He had a feeling Joel wasn't done talking. Or maybe... lecturing.

What the hell-he probably deserved it. He sure hadn't been getting any lectures from Blair lately, which might be part of the problem. Hell, they never even talked anymore and silences that used to be companionable were now strained and uncomfortable. He hated it, but didn't know if he could take the step necessary to change it because-in his mind-the necessary step was to let Blair go. And he didn't think he could do that. Didn't believe he could say, "Don't do it, Chief. Don't continue with the Academy. It's not you.  And while I think you'd make a great cop, the fact is, this is killing you."

Nope, he couldn't say those words because it would be like saying, "Leave Cascade, leave _me_."

He rubbed at his temple with his right hand and groaned. Another damn headache.

"Here," Joel said as he held out the mug of coffee. "I've got some aspirin too.  You look like you have a headache."

"Damn, has he been giving you lessons or something?" Jim grumbled as he took the mug.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he has. Lessons in the care and feeding of James Joseph Ellison. He seems to think you require more than the average man. I wonder why?"

Jim looked up quickly to see Joel smiling down at him, the knowledge of who and what he was shining from those kind brown eyes.

"Yeah, I wonder why," Jim said, almost mesmerized by what he was seeing in Joel's face.

Connor appeared over Joel's shoulder and held out her hand, palm up. In it were two white pills. "Aspirin, coated for your stomach."

He glanced up at her, recognized the sympathy in her eyes, and the confirmation that Joel knew- _everyone_ knew-the truth.

How had he missed this? How had he failed to realize that his fellow detectives had tumbled to everything?

No, that was wrong. They hadn't 'tumbled'. They were detectives, and had worked with Sandburg for years-okay, Connor only a few months, but still.   Everyone in Major Crime had put the facts together and come up with the truth behind Blair's press conference; because they'd managed to get over their own anger. They'd managed to see Blair for who he was: their friend. And once they'd done that, it had only been a short trip to understanding that Jim was, in fact, a sentinel. As advertised.

He wondered how many others in the PD had made the same jump.  Other officers and detectives whose lives had been touched by Blair and had realized the truth.

And as suddenly as he wondered, he had his answer. The men and women who asked continually after Blair-like Serena and Dan Wolfe. Or Jack Coogan and Belle Summers in Vice, Carl Bennett, Chad Watkins and Lisa Black in Homicide, Sergeant Miller downstairs in the lobby, and so many others who wanted to know how Blair was doing at the Academy and when would he be dropping by the station, and how was Jim doing....

For a sentinel, he sure was deaf, dumb and blind. All of which made him a Grade A asshole.

It was time to sit down with Blair, to stop pretending that everything was fine, and talk. The minute his mind accepted that, he felt a calmness descend over him like a warm, comforting blanket. Or Blair's smile.

Looking up at Connor and Joel, he smiled and said, "Thanks, guys. For everything."

"Hey, no worries," Megan said knowingly as she headed back to her desk.

Joel nodded, searched Jim's face for a moment and, evidently seeing what he needed to see, decided no lecture was required. He rolled his chair back to his desk and got to work.

*****

"Jim, could you come into my office for a minute?"

At Simon's tone, and the use of his first name, Jim felt a sense of dread spread through him. The recently-won calm was shattered, because he knew instinctively that something was wrong.   And when something was wrong in his life lately, it always involved Blair. He got up and moved quickly into Simon's office, fully aware of the five sets of eyes on his back.

Once inside, the first thing Simon said was, "Close the door, Jim."

Oh, yeah, something was very wrong. He shut the door but moved no further inside. He'd take what was coming standing up and ready to move out.

"For God's sake, he's not dead, Jim. He's not even hurt, so get in here and have a seat."

Feeling only slightly more at ease, Jim took his usual seat and waited.

"You're not going to ask, are you?"

"Simon, just get to it. He might be physically all right, but this _is_ about him, right?"

"Yeah, it is. I got a call from a buddy of mine - okay, that's an outright lie. I called him. Wanted to know how Sandburg was doing since none of us can get anything more than 'fine' out of him. Anyway, he would be doing fine," Simon made little quote marks in the air, "except he's missed seven days. He's smart enough that it's not hurting the class work, but at this rate, he won't pass the field testing or weapons, and that means no graduation. If he's sick, tell him to just be honest. He can take a deference until-"

"He's not sick, Simon. This is the first I've heard that he's missed a single day."

"Oh, shit."

Jim thought he couldn't have said it better himself.

*****

"Ellison."

_"Jim, it's me. Hey, I'm running late so I'm going to have to meet you at Duffy's, all right?"_

"Duffy's?"

_"Hello? Steiner's retirement party? Earth to Ellison?"_

"Oh, shit, you're right. That's tonight, damn it. Yeah, okay, we'll meet there."

_"Is everything all right? It's not like you to forget something like that. He's a friend and you guys have been planning-"_

"Sandburg, enough. I'm fine. Just buried in paperwork and, for a moment, simply forgot what day it was, that's all."

_"I'm supposed to believe that you forgot it was Friday? No way, man. Come on, I have plenty of time before I'm due on the field. What's going on?"_

"Sandburg, I'm fine, I swear it." Jim deliberately gentled his voice as he added, "Really, I am. Looking forward to this evening and the chance for both of us to relax among friends. Besides, you know how I hate paperwork, Chief."

_"That's just a rumor and you know it. You live for paperwork just like all cops. Paperwork and donuts."_

Jim couldn't help but smile in response to both the words and the humor in Blair's voice. For a moment, it was so much like old times, when Blair would call from the University, that he almost forgot where Sandburg really was.

"Yeah, yeah, that's us. Donut-eating, paperwork-loving, ticket-writing cops."

_"Have you ever actually written anyone a ticket?"_

"I'll have you know-"

"Ellison, Joel, my office-now," Simon said in his 'we've got a new case' voice.

"Chief, I've got to go-"

_"I know, I heard him. Be careful, man, and I'll see you at Duffy's around seven."_

Before he could respond, Jim heard the click of the phone. Feeling bereft at the loss of contact, he got up and followed Joel into Simon's lair.

*****

"I'm not your enemy, Cadet Sandburg. I'm also far from blind. I know what's happening." Captain Lyle Hemmings sat forward and added, "Sit down, Cadet, this is going to take a while."

Blair relaxed his stance and moved to the chair in front of the man's desk. Uniform hat under his arm, he sat down even as he groaned inwardly. Duffy's was looking like a lost cause at the moment.

"Sandburg, you've been on the streets with Detective Ellison for three years. In any of that time, did you get the impression that being a cop was easy?"

Puzzled by the question, Blair shook his head. "No, sir, not at all. Even as an anthropologist, I went in with preconceived notions, all of which were quickly shattered. There are few people I admire more than the men and women who choose to put their lives on the line for their city every day."

Hemmings smiled at that. "Not bad, Cadet. Not bad. I even believe you. And with that in mind, maybe you can understand why I haven't stepped in before now; why I haven't stopped this nonsense that you're living with. I know damn well you're being harassed; that your life here at the Academy is being made a living hell by both your fellow cadets and some of your teachers.

"But the truth is, it will be no different on the streets. You've chosen a rough road and, if I were to try and soften it by paving over it while you're here, I'd be doing you an injustice."

"Er... thank you, Captain-I guess."

Hemmings chuckled before saying, "Banks was so right about you." He got up and walked to the large window that overlooked the track field, clasping his hands behind his back.  "I don't pretend to know all the facts.  But I do know Ellison;  and Simon and I go back fifteen years. I trust him. And Ellison is one of the best cops I've ever seen."

"Only _one_ of the best, Captain?" Blair asked with a smile. "I think he's the best you've got. The best _any_ city could have."

Hemmings turned then, surprised by the depth of respect and admiration in Sandburg's voice and the total belief in what he'd just said, in spite of the smile and humor behind the words.

Keeping his eyes on Sandburg's face, Hemmings said, "You may be right, Cadet. Detective Ellison could very well be a... special cop." He watched with interest as a dull flush crept up over Sandburg's uniform collar and toward his cheeks. Well, well, things were getting even more interesting.

He walked back to his desk, all thoughts of giving Sandburg the usual speech about the sanctity of being a police officer, gone. He checked his watch, noted the lateness of the hour, and decided this discussion would be better suited for Monday-after he'd had the chance for a long talk with his old buddy, Simon Banks. Another long talk.

"Cadet, you've missed several days-important days-and I want you to reflect on that fact over the weekend." He opened the folder in front of him, perused Sandburg's schedule, and added, "Your first class is at nine, so I want you here, in my office, at eight. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain Hemmings."

He looked at him over the rim of his glasses. "If you had any ideas about making up for lost time this weekend, forget about it. I want you to give serious thought to your future but I don't want you to think about this place for the next two days. Don't open a book, don't give us a thought. That's an order. Dismissed."

Shocked, Blair got to his feet and, following a quick salute, walked out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

What the hell had just happened? He'd been expecting a dressing down, perhaps even the boot, and instead....  Okay, he was thoroughly confused.

On the other hand, orders were orders and it was six-fifteen. Duffy's was back to being doable. And he fully intended on doing Duffy's.

*****

"The judge tossed it out and that's all there is to it."

"We didn't drop the ball, Homicide did," Brown said as he tried to cheer up his partner.

Jim had been listening to the never-ending saga of their "most terrible, totally horrible, positively disastrous" afternoon for the last thirty minutes, one eye on the entrance to Duffy's, the other on his friends. It was after seven and Blair was still absent.

"Homicide always drops the ball," Connor said. "That's why their cases always end up with us. The whole lot of them aren't worth a zack."

There was a moment of silence, a strange few seconds as each member at the table seemed to be waiting for something. Finally Brown glanced over at the space they'd left at the end of the booth for Blair, lifted his beer and, just before taking a sip, said, "I won't ask. I'd rather wait 'til Hairboy gets here and he'll tell me."

Rafe, Joel and Simon all nodded, their expressions almost stubborn in their decision not to ask Megan what a "zack" was, instead choosing to ask Blair, who, if he'd been there, would have automatically filled them all in. Undoubtedly with some hilarious and lengthy story from his own experiences, Jim figured.

At that instant, he felt the whoosh of fresh air and looked toward the door and, sure enough, in walked Blair. He spotted them quickly - not hard to do considering they were in their usual booth - and, after stopping by Paul Steiner's table to congratulate him on his retirement, made his way over to them.

"Saved you a spot," Jim said even as everyone unconsciously slid over a few more inches.

Blair slipped in next to him and, before even saying hello, caught the eye of the waitress. When she stopped next to him, he smiled up at her and said, "I'll take a scotch-water over ice."

"Sure, honey. Be right back."

Simon exchanged worried glances with Jim, who shrugged helplessly. Blair choosing hard liquor was so unusual that it was worthy of the shiver of worry that raced down Jim's spine. Suddenly the crowd and his friends were in his way; preventing him from having the promised talk with Blair and taking the first step toward a process of healing; something they were both in desperate need of and had been for months.

Okay, Jim decided, thirty minutes. He'd give Blair a chance to unwind, let the gang spend some time with him, and then home and talk.

The waitress returned and set the drink down in front of Blair, who further shocked them all by saying, "Run a tab, please."

"Sure. Anyone else need anything? Refills?"

Everyone shook their heads as they stared at Blair, who was taking the first sip of his drink.

When the waitress slipped away, Simon, who was at the other end of the booth, got to his feet. "I'll be right back, guys. Anyone want more from the buffet table? Another plate of appetizers?"

"Sure, Boss. Thanks," Henri said for all of them.

With another look at Jim, Simon headed off-for the bar.

For a reason Jim couldn't explain, he concentrated his hearing on his boss....

*****

Simon walked up to the bar, the pride and joy of Jerod Duffy, ex-Cascade PD detective, and leaned over in order to get Duffy's attention. Jerod spotted him, nodded and, after serving another cop, ambled over to the end where Simon stood waiting.

"Good party, isn't it?"

"Always is, Jer. Always is. Look," he said as he leaned in almost conspiratorially, voice low. "Sandburg's ordering the hard stuff tonight and I don't think he means to quit any time soon. Do me a favor and water his drinks down a bit, will you?"

Duffy's brown eyes widened in surprise as he asked, "The kid's drinking the hard stuff? That scotch and water was his?"

"Yeah. Things are rough right now and I just want to protect when and where I can, you know?"

"I got it, Simon. Don't worry. I'll do his orders myself." He then winked and said, "Good thing he doesn't drink it much. He won't notice the difference until morning, when he wakes up _without_ a major hangover."

Simon grinned in response, patted his old friend's arm and said, "Thanks, Jer. Thanks."

*****

Jim grinned. It sure paid to have friends in high places-and bars. He glanced down at his watch.

Twenty more minutes.

*****

"Hey, Chief?"

Blair turned his head slowly and said, "Yeah, man, that's me. Chief. Chiefy. Your little chieftain. What can I do for you, Jimbo, little buddy, my main man?"

Jim arched an eyebrow at that and wondered just what kind of job Duffy was doing in watering down the two drinks Blair had so far downed. He'd swear his partner was seven sheets to the wind...and that was a conservative estimate of sheets. Maybe he should consider 'accidentally' knocking over Blair's third scotch, which had just been delivered. He nixed that idea and, instead, leaned in close and suggested, "How 'bout we clear out, head for home? Sound good, partner?"

Blair shook his head twice-hard. "No way, man. This is a great party. Isn't it a great party?"

Okay, this was going to take some finesse-or guilt. Finesse the guilt.

He rubbed at his temple and tried to look suitably distressed as he whispered, "I've got a headache, Chief. Do you mind splitting early?"

Blair's expression changed instantly, going from loopily vacant to concerned. "So sorry, Jim. Should have known. Loud, and the smoke...sure, come on, we'll head out." He glanced down at his drink then back up at Jim and added, "But we'd probably better leave my car here. Think you can handle the drive home?"

"I can handle it, Chief. I can handle it."

"Okay, cool." He looked over at the MC gang and said jovially, "Hey, guys, we're outta here. It's been fun, miss you all, but I've got to get the roommate home. He ain't as young as me and tires easily, don't you know."

Everyone laughed and, amid cries of "Don't go yet" and "We want to hear all about the Academy", they said their goodbyes. Jim exchanged a knowing look with Simon even as Blair slid out of the booth.

"Got a jacket, buddy?" he asked as Jim got to his feet and joined him.

"Yeah, I'll pick it up on the way out, don't worry."

"Okay, good. It's cold out there and I wouldn't want you to get sick," he said as he patted Jim on the arm and started weaving his way toward the door.

"Yes, well, see you all on Monday," Jim said with an apologetic grin. He gave them a wave and followed Blair out into the cold night air.

*****

"Here we go, Chief. Home sweet home," Jim said as he guided his friend inside.

"How's the head?"

"Still on."

"Good, good. You know, I really need to take a leak. I'll bring the aspirin back with me, all right?"

"Great, you do that. Remember where the bathroom is?"

"Ha-ha, very funny," Blair said as he started toward the stairs that led up to Jim's room.

"Uh, Sandburg?"

Blair turned around. "Yeah?"

Jim jerked his thumb toward the hall. "Bathroom."

"Your point?"

"Sandburg," Jim warned.

"Damn, and so close too," Blair muttered as he walked past Jim toward the bathroom.

Wondering what Blair meant by that, Jim decided coffee was in order - especially if they were going to talk. And they _were_ going to talk.

*****

 

"Here you go," Blair said as he came up behind Jim in the kitchen and held out the bottle of aspirin.

"Oh, yeah, thanks. Trade you," Jim responded as he held out a cup of steaming hot coffee.

"You think I'm drunk, don't you?" Blair asked as he took the mug and headed for the couch.

"After what you downed? Yeah, I think it's a possibility. You're usually buzzed after a couple beers."

Blair picked up the remote and clicked on the set before settling back against the couch, mug in hand. "Have you really looked at me?"

Uncertain where this was going, Jim moved to stand in front of his partner. "Hard to miss you, Chief."

Blair glanced up and asked, "So, do I look drunk?"

For the first time, Jim really did look at his friend...at his eyes, which were amazingly clear, and his hands, which were amazingly steady. And yet, he could smell the alcohol, knew that watered down or not, Blair had imbibed enough to be at least tipsy. But evidence was truth in Jim's case, especially when the evidence was gathered via his senses.

He sat down next to Blair, took the remote off his leg, aimed it at the set and said, "There's nothing good on television and, since you're not better or worse for the alcohol, I think now would be a good time to talk." He clicked off the set and dropped the remote onto the cushion beside him.

Blair blew on the top of his coffee, took a sip, and asked a shade too casually, "About?"

Jim patted down his pockets in an exaggerated motion and said, "I have a list here somewhere.  But in lieu of finding it, how 'bout we start with...oh, the Academy? Then we can segue over to the fact that I've never actually apologized to you for not trusting you or believing in you when the whole dissertation thing blew up in our faces.  And _then_ we can move to Alex and some more distrust and idiocy on my part.  And then maybe, when we get all that dirty laundry out in the open, we can talk about what you really want to do and what's really best for you."

Blair dropped his mouth open, slammed it shut, and said, "I refuse to fall back on the trite 'are you a pod person' remark, and while I believe that we are not alone in this galaxy, I really don't think aliens are responsible for what I'm seeing now. That leaves...a woman.   Which explains your frequent absences from the loft.   I'm  betting you're madly in love and she's got red hair and legs up to my chin, and you're planning a honeymoon in Hawaii even though she's wanted in sixteen states and the FBI suspects her of being a serial killer and, by the way, her victims are all men under the age of thirty-five and short. I also figure the two of you had a nice long chat about all of this and she's somehow managed to get you to do what I've failed to get you to do for the last year."

With that, he got up and headed for the kitchen.

"Chief?"

"I'm going to spike this coffee and I'm going to keep on spiking it until dawn or unconsciousness, whichever comes first."

Jim was up in an instant and managed to catch up and step in front of his friend before he reached the kitchen. He put out a hand to stop him, resting it against Blair's chest. "Whoa, buddy, I think that coffee will stand up on its own, with nothing more than that touch of cream I added. And there is no redhead, Chief."

Blair looked down at Jim's hand and, eyes fixed on it, said, "So she's a blonde, big deal. She still has legs-"

"She doesn't have legs, or blonde hair, or any other color hair, for that matter, because there is NO woman. Hasn't been a woman in...okay, far longer than a healthy, all-American, Sentinel of the Great City, man should go without, if you know what I mean."

Blair continued to stare at Jim's hand as he answered, "There has to be a woman. What other explanation could there-"

"Blair, look at me-not my hand-at _me_."

Blair slowly lifted his head so that troubled blue eyes met Jim's steady ones. Smiling gently, Jim said, "I couldn't face you, Chief. I couldn't face seeing your discomfort surrounding the Academy, couldn't face seeing the change in you...and maybe...the death of who you are. And yet, I couldn't-wouldn't-stop it. Too selfish, too damned selfish. I _wanted_ you beside me out there, wanted you as my partner even at the expense of all that you are. And I couldn't face that so I stayed away, worked late, met the gang after work, did the gym; anything to keep from seeing you gradually disappear."

Blair ran a hand over his face and then scraped his fingers through his hair before finally saying, "Okay, I might be a bit confused here." He looked at the coffee mug in his hand and said, "Maybe we could both use something stronger than coffee to get through this tonight...."

Jim took the mug, set it on the table behind him and said, "We don't need anything but talk-honest talk. And maybe some popcorn later."

"I want popcorn now," Blair muttered. "Spiked popcorn."

Laughing, Jim said, "Go sit down, relax. I'll make the popcorn; with salt, butter and, for the spiking, a touch of chili powder, just the way you like it. And then...then we'll talk. Really talk."

Blair shrugged and turned away, causing Jim's hand to slip from his chest. "If chili powder is all I'm going to get, I'll take it. But lots of butter, man. Lots of butter."

Jim watched him sit back down and rest his head back. He knew without looking that Blair's eyes were closed, that he was absorbing and trying to center himself. Jim went into the kitchen and started the popcorn.

*****

"Okay, one large bowl of popcorn and two sodas," Jim said as he retook his place on the couch next to Blair.

Blair accepted the cold soda and watched as the bowl was set between them.  But, because Jim was sitting so close, the bowl was actually balanced on their legs. He smiled as Jim reached over and stuffed the end of a paper towel down the top of Blair's shirt before grabbing a handful of buttery popped corn.

They munched contentedly for several minutes, both enjoying the fact that, once again, their silence was companionable rather than the strained type they'd been living with for far too long.

But, eventually, Jim knew the words he'd promised had to be spoken.

"Funny," he said. "I thought I knew everything I needed to say, but now...now I'm stuck. I don't know where to start. Maybe I really do need a list."

"The Academy," Blair said following a sip of cola. "That was first on your verbal list."

"Okay - let's start there."

"I have a meeting with Captain Hemmings first thing Monday morning. I thought he was going to sack me today, I really did. Instead...well, the conversation seemed to bounce all over the place. Anyway, it ended with him telling me to think things out and I guess I'm to make a decision about what I really want and tell him on Monday. All of which would seem to point to me not getting sacked unless that's what I want."

"You've missed some days, right?"

Blair sighed heavily. "So you know. Simon, right?"

"Yeah. He told me today."

"I didn't start out to miss days, or cut school, or play hooky. But each time the opportunity arose...I took advantage." He turned miserable eyes to Jim. "I pulled a Naomi. _Me_ , the guy who never ran away from anything. But this time, I totally chickened out."

"Chickened out? That's not what I'd call it, Chief. You're miserable there.  Unhappy because you knew you were being turned into something you're not-"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Jim. For God's sake, I've been your partner for three years. I've fired guns, you know? Hell, the Academy is a breeze and kind of interesting-in an anthropological way. Sure, the firearms class was...strange, but I was handling it, you know? Hell, even the field stuff and the obstacle course...even those are okay...maybe even fun-"

"Then for God's sake, why would you-"

"Look, Jim, I don't want to sound like some kind of wuss...because I'm not. I can take all kinds of shit-or so I thought. I mean-come _on_ -you _know_ me. I've always been the different one. But Jim, man, there's different, and then there's _different_.  And at the Academy, my kind of different, combined with the baggage I brought to the table; the whole media thing and fraud and, well, you know. That was way more than...and it just seemed easier not to go, to cut class when I had the chance." He grinned sheepishly. "Okay, yeah, I guess I am one big, spineless, goober."

"That would be _short_ spineless goober," Jim corrected with a smile.

"Ha-ha."

Jim glanced down at the soda in his hand, twisted it around a few times, and finally said, "I guess I knew it would be hard, but it never occurred to me that it would be... God, I'm stupid. We all should have known."

"We did. We did. But you counted on me being able to talk my way around it all. And maybe-normally-I would have. But this time...this time there were other factors I think. I was confused and-"

"Hurting," Jim finished for him.

"Okay, maybe...yeah. Hurting."

Jim turned slightly so that he could see Blair full on. "My fault."

"Yep. Totally. You're a schmuck."

Jim grinned. "Yep."

"So, no woman, huh?"

"No woman."

Blair looked up at him. "Did you...did you love Alex? Really love her?"

"Whoa...okay, that was unexpected."

"Jim, did you?"

Jim felt the panic in his chest, along with that sour taste in his mouth that heralded the rise of bile. He didn't think the subject of Alex could still do that to him. Or maybe it was something else entirely....

"Well, did you?" Blair asked again.

Jim swallowed hard, close his eyes briefly, tried to regain control of his emotions, and finally said, "Okay, discussing the whole Alex thing was on my list, sure, but we're definitely approaching it from vastly different angles. And if you can ask that...then that means all that mumbo-jumbo you handed me about it being a test was a bunch of crap, right?"

"Man, only you could jump from Point A and directly into the deep end of the toilet."

"Toilets have a deep end?"

Blair rolled his eyes heavenward before saying, "Jim, _I'm_ not the one who said it was a test-Incacha was. Or don't you believe him?"

"Not exactly accurate. You're the one who interpreted his words to mean the whole experience was a test."

"So you don't believe me, then? All this time, you've been thinking what?"

Jim shook his head and said, "We can't keep doing this. _I_ can't keep doing this." He took a deep breath, exhaled sharply, and added, "I _do_ believe you and Incacha. It was a trial, a turning point. The time and place for this particular sentinel to choose the right path. I _know_ that. But evidently _you_ don't."

"Don't be an ass. Who says you can't go through the damn test and, at the same time, fall in love with the test subject? So I ask again: were you in love with her?"

"Why is it so important to you? How does whether I had feelings for Alex have anything to do with what's happening now?"

Blair rubbed the bridge of his nose and finally said, "Nothing. You're right. Nothing at all. Other than, if you did- _do_ -well...oh, hell, forget it. Let's move on."

"No way, Jose. You listen to me, Sandburg. We're getting it all out this time. No holding back. No moving on when things get too uncomfortable. And...I didn't love her-don't love her. Even if she'd been a good sentinel instead of an aberration, I wouldn't have fallen for her, all right? It was all part of the trial. And let's face it-what better way to test a guy than using his lower brain? Hell, I'll take it one step further.  Even if she'd just been an ordinary woman, I'd never have fallen for her. But now that you've opened this door, I admit to some curiosity myself. You met her first-a gorgeous female _and_ a sentinel.  So did _you_ fall for her?"

"ME? Are you NUTS? I didn't even like her. She kissed my cheek at one point and my skin tried to crawl away. I only wish I'd understood what I was feeling. Maybe if I had, I could have prevented-"

"Oh, please, tell me we're not about to enter the Sandburg Guilt Zone? We _both_ could have prevented what happened every step of the way - but it was a _trial_. It was necessary and we have to live with what that meant: namely that for a few days, we were both total idiots. And now we know that neither of us loved Alex."

"Not to mention the fact that you just summed up the entire fiasco pretty well. I'm thinking we can put it behind us and move on."

Jim looked guiltily down at the soda in his hand. "Well, not exactly. There are still a couple of things that _I_ need to address. For instance, there's something I never shared with you. Something...I don't know why I kept it back, hidden, but I want to tell you now."

"All right," Blair said softly. "Go ahead."

"When I was in the pool-"

"I thought you didn't remember anything-"

Jim gave him a sharp look and Blair held up his hand. "Okay, okay, this is me shutting up."

"I _don't_ remember all of it, but I remember the parts about...you."

Blair's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Yeah. You see, there was a point when I was surrounded by violence and death and I thought I was going crazy. I even saw Simon and Connor being shot. There was so much confusion, pain and anger. Then your face appeared, surrounded by a bright light, almost like a halo. I could hear Incacha again, those words...about the dark fleeing from the light, and how the light was from within, but none of it made any sense...until I thought back to when you...died."

"So glad I could help," Blair said sarcastically.

"I'm going to pretend you kept your mouth shut and just continue on with my story," Jim said dryly. "So...anyway...once I relived it-for the umpteenth time-I realized what the visions, and Incacha's words, meant. He said the light was within me, and it was, thanks to what happened to us on the ground next to that damn fountain."

"You mean the mer... the vision we both shared?"

Jim stared at Blair, almost as if appraising him. "You were going to say merge, weren't you?" he finally asked.

Blair glanced away, finding the pillow next to him absolutely fascinating. "That's the word I tend to use when I think about it, yeah."

"Do you remember the light? A brilliantly bright-"

"Almost blindingly beautiful light?" Blair asked as he nodded. "It filled me, surrounded me, enveloped me, crawled around inside of-"

"Okay, okay, I get it. What, your light was a leggy brunette?"

"Ha-ha. Although...as a matter of fact...."

"Stop right there, Sandburg. I don't want to know. So, anyway, I think the word 'merge' is...oddly accurate. I think our souls did, in fact, form a union of sorts and, when that happened, you-a piece of you-stayed with me. And, at the risk of giving you a swelled head and turning your ego up several notches, you became the light, the choice, the way, the path, the-"

Laughing at Jim's tone and brilliant impersonation of him, Blair said, "I've always had a very illuminating personality so this is hardly surprising. And I can certainly see why you didn't tell me-what with worrying about my ego and all."

In spite of the humor they'd both found in the situation, Jim found that he could no longer look at his partner; that the enormity of what he'd finally said out loud was too much. Damn, he'd been struggling with this for so long, and now here it was, out in the open, sitting between them like the damn popcorn.

At that moment, Blair reached into the bowl and took a handful, tossing one up into the air and catching it neatly in his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he said, "So I'm the light, eh? You don't think maybe you might have misunderstood?"

Staring out the far window, Jim shook his head.

"Well, if it matters, I think you did. I don't think I'm the light at all. I think the light is your center and it needs me, Simon, Joel, and all your friends to thrive. The ancient sentinels had a tribe of a few hundred, usually in a concentrated area. You're an urban sentinel with hundreds of thousands in your tribe. You need more support to do your job; to live with some kind normalcy. To survive."

Now Jim looked at him. "Okay, wise guy. If that's true, then why didn't I merge with a bunch of damn animals-with the whole damn MC gang? Why just a wolf; the very wolf you morphed into after I shot you?"

"I'm your partner," Blair said simply. "You know, the guy who watches your back? Helps you out? I just kind of represent-"

"Bullshit, Chief. BULL-SHIT."

"Whoa, don't get all huffy with me, man. I'm just telling you-"

"Who had the visions, Sandburg, me or you?"

Somewhat chastised, Blair muttered, "You."

"Thank you. That's right. Me. Not you. Me. And I _know_ what they mean now. Do you understand what I'm trying to say? I _know_...the way I was supposed to; the way Incacha intended me to know."

"All right, so I'm the fucking light. I shine radiantly upon you, bringing you warmth, love, serenity and maybe even stalling your receding hairline. Happy now?"

"Damn, but you're difficult," Jim said through his laughter.

Smiling in spite of himself, Blair just shook his head helplessly.

Jim finally calmed enough to say, "All this really means, Chief, is that I want to take that trip with you-only you-and I'm not sure where that leaves us now. I'd give anything to have wised up earlier because if I had-"

"This is your Captain speaking," Blair suddenly intoned. "We are now entering the Ellison Guilt Zone, so please fasten your seat belts, folks. It's going to be a bumpy ride."

"What am I going to do with you?"

Blair put the popcorn bowl on Jim's lap and got to his feet. After placing his soda on the coffee table, he walked over to the windows and stared out over their city. "Did you ever think that this road we've been on _needed_ to be traveled, Jim?"

"Are you about to embark on one of those destiny-fate speeches? Because I refuse to believe-"

"No, not really. Not exactly." He turned back around. "I just think... Look, we were two stubborn men with a lot of baggage and I always got the feeling that Incacha had a strange sense of humor. Let's face it; he learned a great deal about us that one evening, could see that we didn't get it, that we both had walls that rivaled the Great Wall of China. He could see that you were still struggling with being a sentinel, and that I was trying to live in two worlds and doing neither to their fullest. So yeah, I think we needed that road to maybe, finally, reach a kind of peace."

"I hate it when you make sense," Jim groused.

Smiling, Blair sympathized, "I know, Jim. I know. You also hate it when I'm right."

"Same thing."

"True."

They were silent for several minutes, each chewing over everything they'd said. Eventually, Blair yawned and said, "Can we finish this little 'talk' tomorrow? I'm wiped, man."

"I promised myself we'd get it out all tonight...."

"And we've accomplished a great deal, but now we have a lot to think about. So...tomorrow? Please?"

Hiding his disappointment, Jim grinned in what he hoped was a convincing manner and said, "Sure. How 'bout Molly's for breakfast and then a walk down by the Marina and some more talk?"

"Oh, man, that sounds great." Blair walked back over, picked up his can, walked into the kitchen, dumped it and, stopping just before his doors, said, "Good night, Jim. And...thanks. Thanks for tonight, for the chance to...well, you know. It's not easy for you, dealing with all of this shit, so...thanks."

With that, Blair walked into his cubbyhole of a room and shut the French doors behind him.

Without thinking about it, Jim rested his head back, closed his eyes, and listened to his partner get undressed.

Odd how soothing that could be....

*****

Blair turned out the light, but he knew sleep would be a long time coming. For the first time in three years, he was beginning to realize how young, foolish and naive he'd been when he entered into the 'bargain' with Jim. The agreement that gave Jim help with his senses and Blair his doctorate.

The reality of it all was far more complicated than he could ever have imagined.

He turned onto his side, pulled the comforter up to his neck, and contemplated his wall.

Leaving would be impossible. Totally, completely impossible. Because both he and Jim apparently 'got' it now. They were connected, a necessary connection, and one that was larger than either of them.

Funny that he should only truly understand now. Especially when he was the one-the only one-who'd understood what Jim was. But it had been a game to him. His youth and imagination-and yes, admiration-had blinded him to the deep import of what he'd really discovered.

Jim was a Sentinel. _The_ Sentinel.  With a life so radically different from anyone else's, so special, that it was a full-time job. And in all fairness, Blair's place in Jim's life, what he did for Jim, was equally a full-time position. They were the yin and yang of Sentineldom. Both were needed-in equal measure-for Jim to function; to _be_ "The Sentinel of the Great City."

And he'd just thought it was the trip of a lifetime.

So right...and so wrong.

He heard Jim moving around outside his doors, knew he was tidying up, locking up, doing his sentinel thing before heading upstairs to his own bed. Blair loved this part of his day. He always felt safer listening to Jim's nightly ritual. It was humorous, in a loving way.

Eventually the light that had slipped through the cracks of his French doors blinked out, and Blair listened more intently. There they were: Jim's footsteps and...finally, as usual, stopping for that brief moment outside his doors, before moving on. Blair held his breath; could feel Jim just outside, close to him....

And then Jim moved away-as he always did-and started up the stairs.

Blair followed Jim's footsteps and felt, for a moment, like a sentinel; the sound of those steps telegraphing everything Jim was doing...

Over to the corner where he'd remove his shirt and sweater, both of them going into the small laundry hamper.  Then...yes, over to the dresser where he'd empty his pockets, drop change into the small Peruvian dish Blair had purchased for him two years ago, for his thirty-eighth birthday...

Now the bed, the slight creaking of wood and squeaking of springs as Jim sat down...each shoe dropping....

Jim would stand again now, discard his jeans, lay them over the back of the chair, and finally, finally slip under the sheets and comforter. He'd move around a bit, like he always did, trying to find the right spot, flip over on his side to face the stairs....

Blair shut it off, squeezed his eyes shut, and figured he had the rest of the night to come to terms with his love-and a life without seeing it come to fruition. Then he'd pack it up, put the top on, tie it up with string, and shove it into the furthest corner of his heart.

How strange that now that Jim was willing to talk, Blair wasn't sure he was. It would be too difficult to share while continuing to harbor a major secret. Hard to talk, to clear the air, get honest, and rebuild a friendship that had taken more below-the-belt blows than most people faced in a lifetime, while _not_ sharing the most intimate, truthful part of himself.

Nope, he was neither ready-nor willing-to face tomorrow.

Or Monday.

*****

He couldn't sleep; couldn't get comfortable. He was miserable, tossing and turning; the pillows suddenly hard as rocks. Downstairs, he knew that Blair was also awake, just not as twitchy. No, Blair had barely moved since Jim had climbed the stairs to his room.

He wasn't certain which was worse. Who was the most miserable.

This wasn't working; this waiting until tomorrow. After all, didn't everyone know that when Jim Ellison got a bee in his shorts, he worked until the bee was settled? And it never mattered if the bee was spring cleaning, a case, maintenance on the truck, or Blair...and right now, he had a bugger of a bee for Blair.

Okay, that hadn't come out exactly right... or wrong.

With a huff of disgust, Jim threw off the covers, grabbed his robe from the end of the bed and, slipping it on, he headed downstairs.

*****

Blair rolled onto his back and listened. Jim was getting up. Damn, he hoped Jim was okay-

"Blair, this isn't working," Jim suddenly said from the other side of the doors. "We need to talk this out now. Pull one of those all-nighters you're so famous for. We can even go down to Bernie's when he starts pulling the breads and rolls out of the oven and get 'em fresh, but...we have to finish this."

Blair closed his eyes, sighed heavily and acknowledged the truth of Jim's words. It would be really cool, this sudden personality change of Jim's, if only he weren't reversing his own personality at the same time. Obviously that damn fucking merge was responsible.

Nevertheless, there was obviously enough of the old him left, because-grudgingly-he got up and joined Jim in the living room.

"If we're going to do this, I want tea," he muttered. "And cinnamon toast."

Jim bit back the grin at the request, but even as Blair settled in his usual spot on the couch, he veered right into the kitchen and started the tea. He got out the bread, butter, sugar and cinnamon and, while the water heated, he suddenly remembered a bit of history Blair had once shared with him.  Something about how Naomi would bribe the small Blair with cinnamon toast when they had 'bad things' to discuss. Things like, "Honey, I'm going on a trip and your Aunt Cathy is going to take care of you while I'm gone" or "No, Bill isn't going to be around anymore, but of course you can keep the basketball he gave you."

Which meant that Blair considered their 'talk' a 'bad thing.'

Funny, when Blair was a boy, Naomi had been responsible for the 'bad things' and now...now talking, something Blair excelled at, was the strange culprit.

Blair not wanting to talk. End of world time.

And when the _hell_ had they changed personalities?

He dropped a tea bag into the mug, poured the water, and gave an exasperated shake of his head because...he knew.

That fucking merge.

*****

"Sorry, no honey for the tea," Jim said he handed Blair the mug and small plate.

"You do know I was joking about this," Blair said, indicating the toast.

"What I noticed was that you didn't stop me." He sat down and added, "What I don't get is why finishing this up once and for all is something you don't want to do. That's not you, Chief."

Blair offered Jim some of the toast and, after Jim, grinning, took a piece, said, "I want us to talk- I _do_. I just.... Damn it, Jim, this is so complicated. The bottom line is that no matter what we settle tonight, no matter what happens, we're left with the hole I dug by claiming to be a fraud. If we go forward with me and the Academy and being your partner, how can it possibly work?"

"Ah, so that's where all this reticence is coming from.  You're worried about what happens after the Academy-"

"Jim, I'm not going to snow you;  I'm worried about the _Academy_.  Oh, don't get me wrong; I can do it, I can pass-easily even. But every day it's something new in the way of harassment.  And just like Captain Hemmings said this afternoon, it's nothing like what we'll face on the streets. It'll be worse, Jim. Far worse." He looked at Jim then, eyes hard. "It could get you killed."

Jim took the mug and plate out of Blair's hand before he spilled everything all over himself (and thank God that it was still Blair who talked with his hands and not him) and set it down on the table. Settling back, he asked in an offhanded manner, "How many people do you think know I'm a sentinel?"

"That's a stupid question-"

"So humor me. How many?"

"Okay, not including you and me - three." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Mom, Megan and Simon."

Smiling softly, Jim took Blair's hand and pulled up another finger. "Joel." Then he pulled still another one up. "Henri." He pointed at Blair's left hand. "Give me that one."

Stunned, Blair blindly held it out.

Jim wiggled Blair's thumb. "Rafe." Then Blair's index finger. "Wilson." And his middle finger. "This one has to stand in for all the rest of the squad or we'll run out of fingers and I'll have to start on your toes and we both know how ticklish you are down there."

He flipped up Blair's ring finger. "Serena." And finally, Blair's pinky. "Dan Wolfe." Grinning, he let go, shook both his hands in Blair's face, and said, "These are all the other officers and detectives who actually have brains and figured it out."

Frowning, Blair stared at his thumb and said, "Rafe knows?"

Chuckling, Jim said, "Well, Henri probably had to tell him, but yeah, he knows."

Still staring at his thumb, Blair asked, "So you're saying that everything is okay?"

"No, I'm saying we have friends, support and protection. I'm saying we won't have to go it alone."

"I need that toast," Blair suddenly said. He picked the plate up along with tea and started eating.

Jim watched as he dipped the bread into the hot drink and munched thoughtfully - so he stayed quiet, knowing full well that Blair was thinking. When there was no cinnamon toast left, not even a bit of cinnamon on the plate, and the tea gone, Blair sat back, burped, apologized, and then mused, "So they all know...."

"Yep, they all know."

"Well, I'll be damned." Blair gave Jim a rather crooked smile. "You know, I can handle the Academy if I know that when I finish, there's actually a chance this could work. That when all is said and done, you have people who know, who are behind you-"

"Behind _us_ , Chief. Behind us."

A look of wonder suffused Blair's face as he whispered, "Us?"

Jim gave an exasperated shake of his head. "You know, this is kind of disappointing, Chief. If I'd known that you didn't know that everyone we care about knows, I'd have made sure you knew."

"Yeah? Well, that sentence is unraveling as I speak."

"I thought it was rather brilliant, actually."

Blair patted Jim's hand. "You just keep thinking that, Bruno."

"You dork."

"What time is it?"

"Bernie's not even out of bed yet," Jim said sorrowfully.

"Damn."

"Oh, we're not done yet, Einstein. Not by a long shot. We've settled your concerns-to a certain extent-but not mine. I have a couple of big ones. Huge. Gargantuan."

"Want some cinnamon toast?"

"No, I want to know, once and for all, honestly, the truth from your heart, if you really want to be a cop."

When Blair started to answer, Jim held up a finger. "Please note, I did _not_ say be my _partner_ -I know you want that, and thank God you do. What I _said_ was, do you really want to be a _cop_. Carry every day. Face the distinct possibility that you'll have to use the gun you carry or even kill. Take a life with some deliberation. That's my biggie, Chief. My nightmare, my worry, and what I fear." He paused, and then added softy, "Even more than being a sentinel."

Blair heard the whispered words and a bit of lightening struck. Not a huge bolt, just a small zigzag in the grand scheme of life-storms.

Jim really did want him as a partner.

In all these weeks, that had been his one true fear-that Jim really would prefer life as it had been.  Before the onset of his senses, and before the arrival in his "Dirty Harry" world of one short, hairy, neo-hippie, whatever- the-hell-Jim-had-called-him-that-first-day anthropologist.

Sure, there were his own concerns about his ability to do the job the way it was really supposed to be done, meaning backing up your partner with more than a cell phone. And there was certainly the issue of being crazy, over-his-head in love with Jim. That had figured rather prominently in his daily worries. But no matter how those issues haunted him, the real fear had been that Jim wanted a life that had no Blair Sandburg in it.

He should have known the truth-it had been there.  Every time Jim _hadn't_ asked about the Academy; every time he'd been short on the phone.  Every time Blair's favorite foods mysteriously appeared in the fridge, or his cleaning on his bed, or the way his laundry somehow made it into Jim's hamper when it was Jim's laundry day. Yeah, he should have known. But each time, Blair's mind had whispered, "Guilt" and the fear had grown.

"You haven't answered me, Chief," Jim said.

Gathering his thoughts together, Blair said, "Let me answer you with a question of my own. Have I done anything in the last three years to make you believe that being your partner-in every way-isn't what I want? I've used guns-"

"And fired into the air," Jim interrupted with a wry grin.

"There was no killing the night sky when the Sunshine Patriots made a return visit," Blair reminded.

"Point to Sandburg."

Chuckling, Blair went on. "I told you once that going back to a life of academia was like jumping off a roller coaster and onto a merry-go-round-and I wasn't lying."

"Lots of folks like merry-go-rounds, Chief."

"True, but not me. I used to cry whenever Mom put me on one. But a roller coaster? Oh, man, I lived for them. Would get on, ride, get off, get in line, and go again. Over and over."

"So you like our roller coaster of a life, then? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm trying to say that I have doubts about my abilities to be the kind of partner you need. Not the kind of partner a sentinel needs, but the kind a _cop_ needs. But it _is_ what I want."

Jim glanced down at his hands, at his fingers convulsively scrunching his robe, and he willed himself to relax as he said, "What if Simon and I found a way for you to continue like you have been? What would you say to that?"

"And just how would you do that, Jim?"

"I don't know yet, but...it's worth some thought. I have every confidence in your ability to back me up, to do whatever necessary to save lives, but being a cop-"

"A _real_ cop, you mean," Blair said, his voice cold.

"Being a real cop," Jim went on, "takes something out of you, Chief. You lose a piece of yourself and I don't want that happening to you."

"You think I'm the same person I was three years ago? I'm already different, Jim. Dead bodies, terrorists, murderers, gun runners, whackos every time I turn around? Get real. Besides, I've been 'observing' the best of the best for three years and it's my theory that the good ones don't lose anything-they gain something."

"Would that be the spare tire of a stomach thanks to the donuts?"

"I'm serious, Jim. What you, Simon, Joel, Henri, Megan and the others have is an additional sense-a sensibility, if you will. And no, I don't think everyone is born with it, either. Take Joe Reilly. He's from an entire family, going back generations, of cops. He never gave it a second thought; it was what he was supposed to do. But a few years into it and he suddenly develops this 'sense', this whole need to protect, to literally serve his city, his people.

"And, oddly enough, that's why I wanted to be an anthropologist. To help, to serve mankind by delving into its history.   And, as a cop, I think I'm still doing that."

"Wow. That was...so you're saying you _want_ to be a cop-a real one-then?"

Looking disgusted, Blair said, "No, Jim, I want to be Dorothy Lamour when I grow up."

Jim reached up and tweaked a curl. "Well, buddy, you sure have the hair for it. And boy, can I picture you in one of those sarongs - the kind _guys_ wear - so don't bust a gut."

"Put me on an island in Hawaii and I'll wear one."

"If you're giving it to me straight about wanting to be a cop, it's going to be a year before you've earned vacation time, but I promise we'll spend it there. Always wanted to go back."

"If that's a bribe - I accept," Blair said with a grin before leaning in close and saying, "And yes, Jim. I want to be a cop. No, I didn't get to this point overnight. Yes, I miss my old life because I miss the students, classes, papers, research and projects...hell, even my office. Come September, I suspect it will be doubly difficult, but you don't make any kind of change without some pain and a sense of loss for the good things in your old life. And there were a few."

"Like the co-eds worshipping at your feet?"

"Now it's the meter-maids, so that's a draw."

"And the Miss Muffin, and most of the female cops and civilians at the station...."

"And let's not forget-"

"Okay, so you have the female population wrapped around your finger. This is not news, Sandburg. So we're left with the question of: if you could do it, be my partner, but without the gun, would that be your preference?"

Blair stared out the window at nothing, and finally said, "I don't know. And that's an honest answer. What I do know is that I need to finish the Academy, for myself if no other reason."

Jim patted Blair's thigh and said, "All right, I can buy into that. In the meantime, I'll talk to Simon and see what we can come up with, if anything."

"Fine, whatever, but don't _do_ anything, Jim. You need to promise me that. I really need to think-now that I can do it a bit more clearly-and I don't want anyone making this choice for me by acting too soon on something. All right?"

"Deal."

Blair smiled up at him; a bright smile, the kind that had been missing for far too long. "This has been good, man. Really good."

Jim, basking in the beauty of the smile, nodded. "Yeah, it has. And to think I've been avoiding such talks all my life. Silly me."

Blair cocked his head. "Feel less masculine now that we've actually talked about feelings?"

"Now that you mention it, I have this sudden urge to bake something...."

Blair glanced over at the clock and said, "No need. Bernie should be taking his first batch out of the ovens about the time we get there -if we leave now."

"First one ready gets the first cinnamon roll," Jim said as he jumped to his feet.

Blair's eyes narrowed in challenge. "You're on, man."

*****

It turned out to be no contest since Blair's version of pajamas were sweat bottoms and a t-shirt. All he had to do was put on his tennis shoes and grab his jacket. By the time Jim ran down, he was standing in the hallway whistling. Seeing Jim, he stopped and said, "There's nothing better than that very first roll, the icing warm and dripping...."

"By that, I assume you're implying that you won because you were ready first, right?"

"Well, duh." Blair started to turn toward the elevator when Jim's voice stopped him.

"Chief? Shoelaces."

Blair glanced down and groaned. "Okay, so _one_ shoe is untied. I was still-"

"Sorry, I'm ready, and here, and you still have to tie your shoes." With that, he walked past him, patted him on the head and added, "Yep, that first cinnamon roll is something else again."

"You shit."

*****

The walk to Bernie's Bakery was made in silence, the empty streets proving to be a soothing balm to both men's souls. It was cold but the walk kept their bodies heated. By the time they turned the corner onto Cherry Street, Blair could smell the bakery but knew that Jim had been smelling it since they'd stepped outside.

"No better odor, man," he said with an appreciative sniff.

"Nope. And he made...Vienna rolls this morning. He hasn't made those in-"

"A week," Blair said sarcastically. "I got some on the way to the Academy last Tuesday."

"Really? How did I miss-"

"You haven't been to Bernie's since...you know."

"Well, damn, you're right. Mind elsewhere, I guess."

The bakery was in sight, the front door open as Mel, Bernie's son, swept out the store. He glanced up, spotted them and grinned. "Hey, Detective Ellison, Blair. Just in time. Dad's taking out the first tray of cinnamon rolls now."

Blair pumped his arm up and down as he hissed a triumphant, "Yeeees."

"And you turn thirty when?" Jim asked good-naturedly.

"Hey, I may not be getting the first one, but the second is almost as good, so I'm winner too."

Jim couldn't argue with that so, laughing, they both went inside.

Thirty minutes later, bags of goodies in hand, and having eaten freshly-baked cinnamon rolls washed down with some of the best coffee around, Jim and Blair headed home.

Walking back, the city coming alive with the dawn, Jim thought back over the evening and morning, and everything they'd accomplished and felt...good. Great even. He'd been telling the truth when he'd said this whole talking thing wasn't so bad. He really should have started doing it years ago. It was only as they turned the corner onto Prospect that it hit him and a sense memory registered.

Blair was relieved, yes. That was real, but there'd been something else lurking in the depths of those blue eyes, something...worse? Something unresolved. Something not discussed. He glanced down as his friend, noted the new spring in his step, and wondered if he might be wrong. Blair hadn't looked this relaxed in months. And yet....

"Hey, Chief, is there anything else that's got you worried? Anything we skipped talking about? I mean, we went over my list, but is everything out there now?"

"Sure. I'm good, Jim. I'm good."

It was said easily and quickly and Jim tasted the lie. The partial lie, the kind that exists because of what wasn't spoken.

*****

By the time Jim unlocked the door, he'd made up his mind. The "talk" wasn't over yet.

Once inside, they removed their jackets and headed to the kitchen to put away their newly-purchased goodies. As they did, Jim said, in what he hoped was a gentle and non-judgmental tone, "I get the feeling that while we settled a great deal tonight, there's still something bothering you. And before you deny it, you might want to remember what I am."

Blair paused in the action of placing the Vienna rolls in the breadbox; although Jim thought 'froze' would have been a better description. He waited and finally Blair turned around.

"If there's something else, the one thing I can assure you of, is that it has nothing to do with the Academy or being a cop, all right?"

Blue eyes met blue eyes, the owner of one pair fully aware that the other owner was gauging him, his senses working overtime to discern the truth of his words.

"That's good," Jim finally said. "Nice way of deflecting me from delving deeper. Make it sound like it has nothing to do with us, with what's happening. But it's a no-go. Oh, you're telling the truth, in a way. But it's a half-truth and that's the same as a lie to this particular sentinel."

"Okay, so what if I tell you that...whatever it is...can't hurt you-"

"I don't care about me, Chief. I care about you. And now that I'm really looking, it's hurting you. I can see it plain as day. All the bad vibes are gone and the view is clear, if you know what I mean. So do me a favor and tell me now so that I don't have to nag and harass and make your life miserable."

Blair gave him a wry grin. "What if telling you could hurt me worse? Would you want that, Jim?"

"Damn, you're good."

"Does that mean we can finally go to bed?"

Snap-crackle-pop.

That's how it happened. Clarity. Truth. Nothing dramatic, just... snap, crackle and pop.

Blair heading for the stairs instead of the bathroom. His muttered words, believed to have been said in humor, but now, again, thanks to sense memory, hearing the core of truth behind them....

"Yeah, Chief. Bed sounds good."

The relief that flooded Blair's face didn't go unnoticed by Jim, relief that he was apparently letting it go. He watched Blair finish putting the breads away and he waited.

"Okay, all done here. Bed for this body. Are we still on for Molly's tomorrow?"

"Sure, Chief. Whenever we get up."

"Cool. Okay, then. Goodnight and...thanks, Jim. Thanks."

"Same here, Chief."

He let Blair get to the French doors before he said, "Where you going?"

"Hello? Bed?"

Jim started to move then, slow and easy and with great purpose. He stopped when only inches from his partner. Watched in delight as Blair's pupils nearly eclipsed the blue, watched his nostrils flare and his lips part.

"Bed's upstairs, Blair," he murmured. They were so close, Jim could feel the bits of material from Blair's shirt tickle his skin.

"Jim?"

"Never underestimate a detective or a sentinel. You should know that, Blair."

"I...I...."

"Well said," Jim murmured, his lips now hovering over Blair's.

"You...you...."

"Me -established."

"I...I...."

"You, equally established. Now put us both together, and what do you," he let his lips barely brush Blair's, "get?"

"A dream. I'm dreaming. The whole night's been a dream. None of this is-"

This time, Jim didn't just brush his lips over Blair's, he consumed them.

When he was done and Blair's eyes were glazed over, he whispered, "Some secrets should be shared, Chief. This one especially. We could have been working hard at learning everything there is to know about each other's bodies for months."

Blair blinked several times, came back to earth, licked his lips, and said, "Good point."

"So bed?"

"Bed."

Jim took Blair's hand and they headed upstairs.

*****

Epilogue:

Blair waited in the outer office and, at precisely eight, the door opened and the man himself waved Blair inside.

"No formality, Blair. Have a seat," Hemmings said as he walked around his desk and sat down.

Blair took the same chair he'd used on Friday and, just as he opened his mouth to speak, Hemmings said, "I had a nice long talk with Simon on Saturday and we've made a couple of decisions." He leaned forward, folded his hands together, rested them on the blotter, and said, "If you took the written final right now, you'd pass. Agreed?"

Not sure where this was going, Blair nevertheless nodded. "Yes, sir, I believe so."

"What about the field exercises?"

"Yes."

"Firearms?"

Blair lowered his head at that one, but said a quiet, "Yes."

"That's what we figured. Today at two, Simon and I are going to put you through your paces. Written exam at two, field at four, and firing range at six. If you pass, you're done. A cop. Official."

Shock coursed through his veins as Hemmings words sunk in. "Sir...I...why?"

"Because, Blair, I had a _lengthy_ discussion with Simon. Read between the lines, all right?"

Blair felt the color rush to his face and his blood pounding in his head. His heart was hammering so hard, it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He swallowed hard, grabbed control of himself, and rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Sir, with all due respect-and gratitude-I must respectfully decline."

Surprised, Hemmings said, "You're declining? You mean you want out? In spite of-"

"No, sir, you misunderstand. I most certainly do _not_ want out. What I want, and expect, is to be allowed to finish with my class. I'll take whatever they dish out, but in the end, I'll finish. On my own."

Hemmings fell back against his chair, the air whooshing out of his lungs. "Son, do you realize what we're offering?"

"Yes, sir. And why. But again, I must respectfully decline." Shaking his head in disbelief, Hemmings waved a hand and said, "Dismissed, Cadet Sandburg."

Blair saluted and turned toward the door.

"Cadet, if you miss one more day, you're out."

Blair paused, smiled, said, "Yes, SIR!" and walked out.

As the door closed behind Sandburg, Hemmings reached for the phone. He dialed and, after three rings, the phone on the other end was picked up.

_"Banks."_

"Simon, I owe you fifty bucks."

_"Of course you do. Told you he'd see it through."_

"You did indeed. You're getting one hell of a man; one hell of a cop."

_"You're not telling me anything I don't already know. Send the money over with a cadet later."_

"Go to hell, Simon," Hemmings said, grinning.

*****

Feeling about ten feet tall, Blair headed for the cafeteria. Once there, he got into line, helped himself to scrambled eggs, toast, potatoes, bacon and orange juice, and alone, like always, he sat down-gingerly-and started to eat. As he chewed, he only hoped Jim was having the same kind of sitting problems.

At that thought, Cadet Blair Sandburg almost laughed out loud.

 

The End

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1237>


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